Polter-guy: n. a supernatural
being who lives exclusively on sailboats and who is supposedly
responsible for everything from a lost do-hickey to broken booms
-- Origin S.M. Osier, Mexico 2000

In Indonesian waters, we
were made nervous by small, fast, multi-hulled fishing boats
that would travel at Hobie Cat speeds straight at us and then
turn away just before we thought collision was eminent. The explanation
we got for this frighteningly bizarre behavior was that the fishermen
were dumping bad spirits off from them to us. At the time, I
didn't really believe that explanation. I figured we were just
cheap entertainment. In Bali, I lost some of my skepticism. Keeping
away bad spirits was a daily ritual. Hundreds and hundreds of
tiny shrines are scattered on the roads, and in the towns. Most
businesses have one. They are usually on a pedestal about 4 feet
high, are made of stone (cast cement), and are about one square
foot, or less, in size. These can be a small temple, a Buddha,
or Ganesha (the Indian God with the elephant head), etc. The
temple (or icon) sits on a platform so there is a ledge around
it. The ledge is where the offerings are put. The offerings are
flowers, incense, food, glasses of water or tea, money, all sorts
of things. Even the western oriented Yacht Club and adjoining
restaurant participated. Every morning, a small, wiry old man
left offerings of flowers and incense in strategic places in
and around the building. The offerings came in 3x3x1/2 inch cardboard
dishes. Small blossoms of many different kinds and colors were
artfully arranged (all looked identical) in the dishes, and sprinkled
with water. They were placed at the entrance, one on each side,
inside on several small shrines, on the reception counter, etc.
An incense stick burned at each one. One morning I asked him
why he did this. One of the security guys translated for me.
It was to keep the bad away. There seemed to be a little trouble
getting the translation just right, so I'm not really sure if
the "bad" referred to spirits, luck or just plain evil.
In any case, I thought it sounded like a worthwhile and important
job. More people should spend time repelling bad. I thanked him
for his time and donated a bit of money for incense and dishes.
I'm sure that many people offer many things for many different
reasons; a prayer for a loved one, asking a forgiveness, a hope
for a successful business day, asking for help in finding the
lost car keys, but a lot of those incenses were burning to keep
the bad away. Distilled, I guess that's asking for tranquility.

By now you're wishing I
would get to some kind of point, and so I shall, now that I've
laid the groundwork. One of those fishermen dumped something
on our boat. I'm calling it a polter-guy. (For you non-sailors,
some sailboats have equipment on them called fore-guys and after-guys.
I first thought up the term Polter-guy five years ago in Mexico
when I felt as though something below decks was shoving me around
when the boat lurched,)

The first four years of
our circumnavigation were relatively problem free. Since Indonesia,
we have hit a reef,(TCP # 11) had our alternator (and therefore,
engine) die, surfed a tsunami, (TCP # 12 )lost our fresh water
when the electric pump went, had our boom snap in half during
a violent, lightning filled squall, had our fuel pump ( and therefore,
our engine) die, had our autopilot die, and, in Aden (where we
still sit), had a pugnacious fellow cruiser denounce us, very
publicly, over the VHF radio as "complete disasters"
I know, I know, after reading the previous few sentences, how
could any sane person disagree. For the last five months, we
HAVE been a complete disaster. However, he was referring to our
trip from Oman to Aden. That was not a complete disaster, only
a partial one. (This episode is a story in itself, so I will
not elaborate now; I'm just illustrating another black event.)
After the dressing down, Gene was very cool and didn't respond
except to say that opinions were allowed and to pass on a message
we had received from another yacht for Mr. Pugnacious. I felt
gutted. It seemed the entire anchorage was avoiding contact with
us. We were pariahs. Just when I thought we couldn't be more
embarrassed or humiliated, we were. That very night, in winds
of thirty-five knots, Peregrine dragged. We NEVER drag. Well,
hardly ever. At two in the morning, I had a psychic flash and
came on deck to see Peregrine bearing down on a hapless victim.
I yelled for Gene who was asleep, climbed out the hatch, jumped
to the engine, fired her up, threw her into gear, and put on
the throttle (thank God I've learned how to do something on this
boat). We averted disaster by a few feet. In a heartbeat, Mr.
Pugnacious was as credible as Mother Theresa. I'm sure we were
better entertainment than David Letterman for the late night
crowd.

You must know and understand,
that I am not a superstitious person, so the exorcism that Peregrine
received the next day was simply a way for me to fill the gloomy,
solitary hours. I got out my statue of Ganesha and my Polynesian
Tiki, lit some hand rolled Indian incense, and put on a CD I
got at the Nature Company that musically takes you through a
Shaman's healing journey. When that was through, I played Handel's
Messiah, Beethoven's Hallelujah chorus, Schubert's Ave Maria,
and Wolfie's Requiem Mass. I took out my hand fan and fanned
the pungent smoke out the companionway and hatches. I'm sure
that if we did have a polter-guy, it went out with the smoke.

Before I chased away the
polter-guy, I got a bad case of Ali-Baba Belly (my term for the
Middle Eastern version of Bali Belly, or America's Montezuma's
Revenge), and Gene got a nasty barnacle gouge in the foot. We
have been convalescing for about a week. I am now able to be
more than 10 feet from the head, but Gene's foot is still a mess.
We had to wait in Aden in any case because we ordered a new autopilot
from the US. I'm sure the polter-guy is gone because we got the
part and Gene installed it without a hitch. It only cost us an
extra $200. American in baksheesh to lay our hands on it.

We plan to leave in the
next few days. I don't know if we will go to Massawa, Eritrea
or not. It's approximately 400 miles from here. If winds are
favorable, we may just keep going...

Aden
to Saukin

We finally left Aden in
light winds from the right direction. We motored out the long
channel and when we were well away, raised the sails. It wasn't
long before the dreaded northerlies started blowing hard. We
had to motor slowly into fierce winds. As soon as we could, we
found refuge behind a small island and dropped anchor. We spread
the word by radio, and soon there were five of us anchored. The
forecast was for southerlies the next day. We were all skeptical
about that. We couldn't believe that 25 knots from the north
would give way and turn that fast. Unbelievably, the wind from
the north suddenly stopped, and the southerlies immediately filled
in. We were now anchored on a lee shore. Next morning we all
headed out with good wind behind us. Some decided to utilize
the southerlies and do overnighters to either Massawa, Eritrea
or Suakin, Sudan. Fuel was not available in Massawa, so Suakin
(approximately 500 miles) was our goal. Gene and I decided to
dayhop. We thought afternoon anchoring, sundowners and a good
nights sleep sounded better than three hours on three hours off
for an unknown period.
Most of the anchorages didn't merit us getting out the deflated
dink, pumping it up, deploying it, and mounting the engine, so
until we got to Shumma Island seven days later, we hadn't gone
ashore. I took a relaxing walk amongst the acacias, and saw five
new species or races of birds. It was really good to put my feet
on terra firma. Gene stayed aboard Peregrine because his foot
was not healing and he didn't want to get it wet. The barnacle
gouge now looked like a miniature Grand Canyon that spanned the
width of the top of his foot. Every time he stepped, the thing
would flex and it wouldn't mend. It was getting scary looking.
I insisted that he douse it with betadine twice a day rather
than once, and suggested keeping it covered for awhile to see
if that helped. In the meantime, he developed a boil like thing
on the shin of the same leg. Three days before arriving in Suakin,
Gene's boil erupted. It looked bad, I was very worried, and Gene
was lethargic.
The morning of the day we arrived in Suakin, the engine overheated.
We turned the engine off and let it cool. The radiator
was empty. Gene refilled it and we motor-sailed into big winds
with a mostly furled genoa and a doubled reefed main. We figured
we were at least a week behind everybody. We blew into Suakin
in 25 to 30 knot winds, and were surprised to see quite a few
boats still in the anchorage. Some had been waiting a week for
the winds to die down. Seven or eight people were also using
the break to recuperate from the Dengue Fever that they'd picked
up in Massawa, Eritrea. I guess we should consider ourselves
lucky that we passed by Massawa. It was good to see some friendly
faces. I was particularly happy to see, Exit Only. Exit Only
has a surgeon and physician's assistant onboard. I badgered Gene
to go immediately and see Dr. Dave. He put it off until the next
morning and even then I had to nag. Gene came back from his visit
visibly shaken. He was told to go to the local hospital. Dave
told him that his impaction could cause an amputation if he didn't
get immediate attention. He also told us that if we didn't see
a big improvement in five days, we should go elsewhere. That
would be very difficult. That would mean flights. Flights would
mean money. Americans can not get money in Sudan, and we were
almost out.

We had time to visit and trade books before the winds subsided
and everyone left. We were alone again. I have to admit that
even after meeting our friendly and efficient agent, Mohammed
Ahmed, I was a little worried about being the only boat in Suakin.
Our chart guide told us that, until recently, the current regime
in Sudan supported terrorist groups like al-Qaeda. However, oil
was discovered in W. Sudan, and the regime joined the international
anti-terrorist alliance. Apparently, they'd like to do business
with the west now. So there we were, the only westerners in Suakin,
Sudan. We couldn't leave. Gene had to go to the hospital twice
a day for a least a week, and we had to find out why the engine
overheated and try to fix it.
My worries turned out to be unfounded. The Sudanese in Old Suakin
treated us very well. I could freely wander in the market, and
was greeted with smiles and hellos. Mohammed picked Gene up twice
a day and drove him to the hospital. He drove into New Suakin
to pick up the prescribed antibiotics. He found us a welder,
drove into Port Sudan to look for an alternator (which he couldn't
find), got us water and fuel, and never charged more than his
original agent fee. (In Arab countries, you use an agent to do
your check ins and outs.) We were not conned in Suakin like we
were in Aden. One of Gene's nurses, Awad, invited us to his house
for coffee. It would have been very rude not to accept, so after
Gene's leg was dressed, we all climbed into Mohammed's truck
and drove to Awad's place.
The first impression of Old Suakin is that the place is nothing
but ruins. We were told that the ruined coral buildings were
about five hundred years old, and that they had collapsed from
age, not war. Closer inspection reveals some patched up buildings
serving as small stores and residences. Beyond the ruins, newer
slump stone homes sprawl out across the barren landscape. There
were also fenced in places that we couldn't see. Awad's place
was surrounded by a wall made of sticks and woven matting. Mohammed
dropped us off and we said we'd get back ourselves. We went through
a wooden gate and entered Awad's humble compound. His house was
a sort of permanent tent. Woven mats, plastic and fabric sheets
covered a framework to create the walls. He had a smaller version
of this for his mother in the compound. I believe his home was
representative of the average home. The floors are dirt. There
is no running water. Water is delivered by truck. Awad had a
plastic container that looked as if it held about 50 gallons.
He gave us a tour of his house. It consisted of two bedrooms
and the living-room/kitchen. We sat in the seven by five foot
living room while Asa, Awad's wife, made coffee over coals in
an aluminum casserole pan. We soon realized that having a cup
of coffee was going to be a time consuming event. It's a social
thing, like a tea party. Asa roasted coffee beans then ground
them with a mortar and pestle. She added ginger and other spices
and put the mixture into a small coffee pot of boiling water
she had over her coal stove. She served it very strong in little
cups with lots of sugar, a bit like Turkish coffee. By the time
this process was complete, it was lunchtime and Awad insisted
that we have lunch. Asa made beans and bread. They shared what
they had with pride, warmth and humor. We enjoyed our visit,
but I felt a little guilty. It didn't seem right to take anything
from them. We invited Awad, Asa and their four kids out to the
boat for our weak coffee the following day. Unfortunately, they
did not come because Awad was needed at the hospital. I had purchased
a few small gifts to present to them when they came to the boat,
so I had Gene take them to the hospital before we left.
These people are very poor, but they were honest in the markets,
and I don't think anyone on the yachts had anything stolen. I
hope that Sudan can iron out tribal problems, militant problems,
regime problems, whatever it is that has made life so difficult
for them. I don't know if all of Sudan can be represented by
the people in Old Suakin, I only know what I experienced in that
small community. I wish them the best.
Gene's leg was looking pretty good, and he was finished with
the antibiotics. We made our repairs. We fired the engine up
and ran it for an hour. No water poured from the gasket, the
repaired elbow didn't leak, and we held an acceptable temperature.
The alternator still didn't work, but we were patched up enough
to get to Port Ghalib, Egypt, where we could get parts. We had
a weather window, so we had Mohammed clear us, said our thanks
and goodbyes, and went to bed early in preparation for leaving
in the weak first light of the morning.
Next morning, we took up anchor and headed out. We didn't even
get through the first bend in the channel before we started overheating..
We went back to almost the same spot we were in and dropped anchor.
My worst moments were yet to come, but this was Gene's lowest
moment. He looked pitiful as he sat in the cockpit, head in hands,
bloody bandage on his leg. I have never seen Gene in such a state.
Mohammed came out to see if there was anything he could do. He
said he got the report from the Port officials that we started
out and turned around. We told him we didn't know what the problem
was yet. He said he would call us on the radio at 3:00 to check
on us. What a prince!
Gene discovered that the fresh water used as a coolant for the
engine wasn't circulating properly. He figured the blockage was
in our hot water heater, so we bypassed it to allow the coolant
to circulate better. It seemed to do the trick. We had to use
a temporary hose for that and it was clear. We could see the
water going through. Hallelujah!! We would head out first light
the next morning.
Next time...The Voyage of the Damned, the 420 miles of HELL,
the leg that turned me into a screaming, crying mad woman with
bloody patches on my scalp where hair should have been, the little
stretch that caused me to seriously ask myself, What the
HELL are you doing? , and tell myself, You could
have a better time if you went home, bought a cat-o-nine tails,
and practiced self flagellation three times a day.